


The Crownless Again Shall Be King

by storyranger



Series: A Tale Of Two Cruiserweights [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tolkien, face turn, honestly fuck you enzo amore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: “A King defends their subjects. Even if it costs him.”





	The Crownless Again Shall Be King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melanthia13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanthia13/gifts), [SophinaBlackwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/gifts), [ThatBohoFemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBohoFemme/gifts), [pony_express](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pony_express/gifts).



> Looks like I’m not done with these two. You folks absolutely spoiled me with comments, and now I’m spoiling you with another story.  
> As in all Ranger-verse fics, non-kayfabe spouses/fiancés/partners don’t exist. (And Jack’s throwaway line about his wedding day is being enthusiastically ignored.)

The last thing Neville expected tonight was a knock on his hotel room door.

(Then again, after the week he’s having, maybe it’s time to start revaluating his expectations.)

“You missed all the fun.” Jack’s leaning casually in the doorframe, arms folded in mock-disappointment. He’s ditched the waistcoat and changed into a fresh button-down, and Neville briefly wonders if trunks and dress clothes are all the lad actually owns before waving him into the room. Compared to Jack, Neville looks like a goblin; glasses, threadbare t-shirt, faded trackies, and his almost-ubiquitous beanie make up the outfit of a man who hasn’t expected visitors since he left _Raw_. Neville briefly considers pulling on a clean jumper to cover some of the unfortunate ensemble, before discarding the idea in favour of sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed.

“Ay, well. Was for the best. My foul mood might have ruined the moment.”

“P’rhaps you’re right.” Jack perches next to Neville, placing one hand gently atop the other man’s knee. “Still, I wish you’d been there to see us.”

“Did you each tell him “For the Watch” after you’d dealt your blow?”

Jack gives him a blank look.

“Nevermind,” Neville mumbles, “it’s a _Game of Thrones_ thing.”

“Ah. Haven’t watched that. Heard it’s brilliant, though.” Jack’s clearly trying to lighten his mood, and Neville wants it to work, he really does, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest that he just can’t shake. He’s never felt more tired in all his life, and yet he knows already that tonight, like last, he won’t sleep more than an hour or two.

[And not for the reason you gutter-minded heathens are thinking of, mind you.]

“It’s okay. Watch it more out of habit then anything at this point.” Despite his brain being unable to switch off, Neville’s body is exhausted. But it feels almost inappropriate to just flop out on the bed when someone else is in his room visiting.

_My room, my rules, dammnit! If Jack’s uncomfortable with it, then he can leave._

Emboldened by this thought, Neville shifts so he’s lying next to the still-seated Jack. His knees are tucked into his chest, and after a moment of deliberation, he lays his head across Jack’s lap.

Jack’s momentarily surprised by this display of vulnerability, but surprise is soon replaced with happiness that Neville feels this comfortable around him already. He carefully sets aside the beanie and begins petting the shaved sections of Neville’s scalp, eliciting a low hum of pleasure from Neville.

“Was what happened tonight your plan, or did that wanker push you into it?” Jack’s voice is low and gentle, fingers moving down to Neville’s neck, beginning to work away at the tension built up there.

“I did what had to be done. And I’d do it again. No one disrespects my division that egregiously and gets away with it.”

There’s awe in Jack’s voice as he asks, “You sacrificed your title for the rest of us?”

Neville rolls so he’s facing Jack, whose hands are now tangled gently in his hair. He shrugs and closes his eyes, feeling thoroughly drained. “It was the right thing to do.”

After a heavy silence, he opens one eye. Sees that Gallagher is now staring at him with a mixture of pride and wonder.  He takes a deep breath and tries to explain himself.

“Last night you called me King, Jack, and I realised that although it was never my intention to earn anyone’s approval around here, I am the closest thing we’ve had to a leader. I’ve gone around calling myself The King of The Cruiserweights for so long; it was time I acted like one.” He rolls back to his side, tucking his knees even closer as he finishes, “A King defends their subjects. Even if it costs him.”

He looks so small, curled up like that, and he speaks so matter-of-factly that one could be forgiven for thinking he was some bored teenager who helped his gran learn the internet instead of a man who’s just lost the most important thing in his life.

“What will you do now?”

Neville sighs. “I don’t know. My career might very well be over.”

“I won’t stand for it,” Jack declares, with an emphatic shake of his head.

“I suppose I could go back to the indies. Cody seems to be doing just fine for himself.”

“You can stay right here, on _205Live_. They can’t fire you.” Jack gestures at the bed, an unspoken request. Neville nods and Jack kicks off his shoes, lying down and slowly moving closer until they’re spooning. Through his thin t-shirt, Neville can feel the outline of Jack’s belt buckle pressed against the small of his back.

“What’s the use, though?” He sighs again. “I can’t challenge for the title until that rat loses it. And now he has the champion’s advantage, who knows if that will _ever_ happen?”

“Surely there’s got to be another way to solve this.”

“None that I can think of.” Neville laces his fingers with Jack’s, trying to reassure him. “The no-contact clause was clear, lad. I went in with eyes wide open.”

“Wait a minute.” Jack sits back up, and Neville rolls over to see what’s gotten the ginger so animated. “That clause Kurt agreed to. It didn’t say the _first_ cruiserweight to lay a hand on Enzo Amore would lose their chance at the title as long as he holds it. It said _any_ cruiserweight.”

Neville’s eyes light up as he realises where this is heading. “Who hit him?”

“Every last one of us.”

“So unless they want to replace the entire cruiserweight roster or never see a title defence on 205Live _ever again_ …”

Neville trails off, and Jack finishes his thought for him. “They’ll have no choice but to void that agreement.”

A smile crosses Neville’s face for the first time since Jack kissed him on the grubby floor of the Citizens Business Bank Arena. It was only a day ago, but it feels like more after everything that’s happened. Jack returns it with a grin of his own, and bends down to plant a small kiss on Neville’s forehead. They’re lying face to face now, and it would be so easy to reach out and stroke Jack’s face. So easy to kiss him properly, a warm bed beneath them instead of a hard tile floor. And yet he’s struggling to even look him in the eye, almost afraid that what they shared last night was a fluke. Just a moment of confused madness as they transitioned from enemies to friends. Nothing more.

He doesn’t realise how long the silence stretches between them until it’s broken.

“You know, Adrian, there’s a poem that I think might suit this situation. I know you’re not one for being quoted at, but may I recite it for you?”

Jack’s right; Neville’s not really one for fancy literature. But it would be cruel to reject a request so polite. He nods and Jack clears his throat a little.

_“All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken,_

_The crownless again shall be king.”_

Jack smiles as he finishes, reaching out to brush Neville’s hair off his face. “It’s by-”

“Tolkien,” Neville interrupts, “I know.”

“Didn’t think you’d be into a book as ‘posh’ as The Lord of The Rings.”

“I could hardly call myself a proper nerd and not be familiar with the most influential fantasy novel of all time.”

“Adrian Neville, a nerd? I’m… what is it Mustafa and TJP keep saying right now?” He stops and thinks for a minute. “Ah yes. _Shooketh_.”

“One doesn’t win the UpUpDownDown Rocket League Championship simply by being the coolest.”

“No, I suppose not,” Jack agrees with a chuckle. His hand is back, this time brushing gently along Neville’s cheek.

“May I kiss you, Adrian?”

The air leaves Neville’s chest in one big _woosh_ , and he can’t manage words. He nods instead, and Jack’s lips are on his in a flash, more hungry then the night before. Neville finds himself responding in kind, losing all track of place and time as hands begin to wander.

The moment is finally broken by Jack letting out a huge yawn. He sits up, giving Neville one last apologetic kiss before he begins looking for his shoes.

For some reason Neville can’t bear the thought of him leaving. “Do you… want to stay? And sleep here. _Just_ sleep, mind.”

_I’m not ready for anything else, not yet._

“I do, and I can’t,” Jack sighs wistfully. “Kendrick’s dropping by my room obscenely early for a strategy meeting tomorrow and I can’t risk him asking questions about where I’ve been all night. You know how he gets when he thinks he knows a secret.”

“Sodding little busybody.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Jack sits back down to tie his shoes, and Neville slides over so he’s sitting next to him, one hand placed on the small of Jack’s back. “Will you be alright on your own?”

“Yes,” Neville lies, because it’s what Jack needs to hear. Jack still seems unsure, so Neville kisses him and shooes him towards the door.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jack assures him as he leaves.

If only Neville could believe it.

 

***

 

He should have seen this coming, but he’d let his relief at making that scab Daivari tap distract him until it was too late. It was a rookie mistake, and one that can only be excused by his current (and frankly dangerous) level of sleep deprivation. Now, he’s lying prone on a table in the trainer’s room, Jack sitting next to him, his back screaming from the savage blows Enzo delivered. He focuses on Jack’s face, and it helps a little.

Jack’s having a hard time keeping his hands off Neville as the trainer pokes and prods him, checking for serious injuries. He aches to hold Neville’s hand, but loose lips sink ships. He knows better than to show affection in front of a relative stranger.

His phone goes off and he welcomes the moment of distraction, only for his anxiety to return with vengeance when he sees who it’s from.

“That Kendrick again?” Neville asks, wincing as the trainer touches a particularly sore spot.

“No, it’s nobody important.”

“You’re a shite liar, Jack.”

Jack waits until the trainer walks across the room to get something before he admits, in a low voice, “He wants to ride together tomorrow. Thinks we should leave at bloody 6am, no less.”

“You should get out of here, then. Get some rest. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m not leaving you in this state.”

“And what if he comes snooping?”

“I’ll break his jaw so he can’t tell.”

“A beautiful sentiment. Shame it can be defeated by text messaging.”

Jack’s voice rises a little. “I couldn’t care less about Kendrick right now, okay?” Neville raises his eyebrow, nodding towards the returning trainer, and Jack drops his voice back to a low hiss. “ _You_ are what concerns me.”

The trainer brings with him an armful of bandages, and begins expertly weaving them around Neville’s torso. He feels uncomfortably stiff once they’re in place, but at least the pain has begun to subside a little.

“Can you drive him home, sir?” the trainer asks, handing Neville some pain meds and a glass of water. He swallows the pills gratefully as Jack assures the trainer it’s no bother. Neville _does_ protest when Jack insists on helping support him to the car, but they’ve barely left the trainers office when he realises he might not be _able_ to make it under his own power. He allows himself to relax and let Jack take most of his weight.

“Exacly how long do you intend on playing nursemaid?” he asks as Jack helps him into his seat. The pain is making him snippy, but Jack ignores the tone and answers sincerely.

“Until I’m satisfied you’ve at least had one decent rest. You look like you haven’t slept since Sunday.”

“I haven’t,” Neville admits.

Jack frowns as he turns the key in the ignition. “I should have stayed last night. I’m sorry.”

“You did what was best. For both of us, mind. It’s worth being careful. Things could get… unpleasant.”

Jack nods. It’s frustrating, knowing how much work will be required to keep the secret if this… _thing_ continues, but for all management’s boasting about inclusivity, their actions (or lack thereof) spoke louder than words.

Jack’s driving as smoothly as he can, but every bump still feels like a shockwave through Neville’s spine. Jack begins to ramble, trying to distract him. “I should have guessed it would be Daivari who’d try and betray the division first. I hope getting trounced tonight makes him come to his senses. You were beautiful out there, all things considered. You’re always beautiful in the ring. Head-butts and handstands are crowd-pleasers, sure, but it’s nothing compared to the way you can fly.”

“I already let you kiss me, Jack. You don’t have the keep up the flattery.”

A flush creeps across Jack’s cheeks as he insists, “it’s not flattery. It’s the truth.”

“Flying’s the easy part, lad. It’s the landings that matter.”

They fall into an easy silence after that, punctuated by the odd hiss of pain from Neville and a few curses from Jack when other drivers fail to signal.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Neville asks suddenly. “About getting my crown back?”

“If anyone deserves the number one contender-ship, Adrian, it’s you.”

Neville’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the way Jack says his name. “Knowing my luck, they’ll probably run a Battle Royal for it.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, old boy.”

“ _We_?”

“I’m not saying I’d let you win, but there’s no harm in working together to clear some space for a proper fight.”

They’ve reached the hotel now, and whatever response Neville had is lost when he realises he’s somehow going to have to stand up and walk inside.

“Hey,” Jack says, placing a warm, grounding hand on Neville’s knee. “One step at a time. I’ll be right beside you.”

Those words echo in Neville’s head as he limps across the parking lot, as Jack all but carries him up the stairs, as he lets the ginger help him change into pyjamas. _One step at a time. I’ll be right beside you._

Even with most of his torso covered in bandages, Jack can still see bruises blooming across Neville’s back and chest. When he’s satisfied Neville’s as comfortable as possible, he lies down next to him and squeezes his hand, reassuring.

Neville frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to sleep in your trousers.”

“Gran Metalik will have gone to bed by now. It would be rude to blunder in and wake him.”

“You can borrow something of mine.”

“Alright.” Jack opens Neville’s suitcase and searches through it, settling on some shorts and a soft navy pullover. He turns away while he changes, and Neville allows himself a small grin at the other man’s bashfulness.

“Do I pass inspection?” Jack asks, turning back to face him.

“Ay.” Neville gestures to the empty space beside him. Jack takes the hint and slips under the covers, slotting his body neatly against Neville’s, careful not to press too hard against the tender flesh. His hand settles lightly on Neville’s hip, and Neville’s whole body tenses up.

“Sorry.” Jack apologizes, pulling back immediately. “I should have asked-”

“No. It’s fine. Just been a while, is all.” Jack’s hand returns, more solid this time, and Neville puts his hand over top; both to keep Jack from pulling it away, and to prevent it moving places he wasn’t ready for yet.

“I’ll follow your lead, then.” _One step at a time. I’ll be right beside you._ “Do you need anything else? More pills? Some ice? A good stiff drink?”

“You serious?”

“I’m always serious when Scotch is involved.”

“Give it here, then,” Neville orders, and Jack rolls over to retrieve an elegant flask from his waistcoat. Neville takes a large swig, the pleasant warmth spreading quickly through his chest. The pain begins to dull a little, and he feels his eyelids growing heavy. Jack sets the flask down next to the alarm clock and snuggles closer to him.

He’d almost forgotten how nice it could feel to fall asleep next to someone.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jack whispers.

And this time, somehow, Neville believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> LONG LIVE THE FUCKING KING


End file.
